


Dies Irae

by Dr_Henriette_Nygmobblepot



Series: Inception x John Wick crossover [1]
Category: Inception (2010), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Falling In Love, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Monologue, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining Eames (Inception), Protective Arthur, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 15:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Henriette_Nygmobblepot/pseuds/Dr_Henriette_Nygmobblepot
Summary: Someone took something very important from Arthur. It was the worst mistake they could possibly make.(John Wick AU)
Relationships: Arthur & Eames (Inception), Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Inception x John Wick crossover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207352
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Dies Irae

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The title image can be viewed at the end of story, however, you have to be on desktop to view it.
> 
> 2\. Hey guys! This is a translation of my fanfic, so again excuse me for any mistakes. The action scenes were particularly hard to translate but I had fun XD. Hope you guys enjoy it!

####  **I lift my hand to heaven and declare: As surely as I live forever,**

####  **when I sharpen my flashing sword and my hand grasps it in judgment, I will take vengeance on my adversaries and repay those who hate me.**

#### —— _Devarim_ ，Book of Deuteronomy（32:41）

He lift his right leg and and hooked it to one of the leg of his attacker as soon as his back touched the cold marble floor. Once the attacker lost his balance and fell on his knees, he quickly rolled back and kicked upwards, launching his body into the air while pushing off the floor with his hands and hooked his legs towards the ground, transiting himself to a standing position. He then violently struck the temple of his attacker with a silver suitcase from the right side, and jabbed him in the throat when the man cocked his head to the left. He wasted no time and struck the back of the attacker’s head with full force. The man immediately collapsed on the floor, skull beaten out of shape. 

He picked up the _Heckler & Koch P2000 _ from the floor and inserted it back in the holster. _Eames’ pistol._

They were coming at him.

His heart was beating fast. Storm of adrenaline rushing in his veins. He took the magazine out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket (Attolini, $3000) and swiftly reloaded the assault rifle within a few seconds, as if he had done it a hundred times before. 

They were firing at him, bullets closely following his heels, leaving a trail of bullet holes on the floor. The additional weights of assault rifle and suitcase did not slow him down even a little. There were some figures lurking outside of the building, but he spotted them already.

_One_.

A shot at Heart. 

_Two._

A shot at Forehead.

_Three._

A shot at throat.

He took them done one by one, like they were just some sort of NPCs in video games. Outside there was heavy rain pouring down the street. He stepped into a Corvette parked on the sidewalk, started the engine and floored the gas pedal.

_Almost. He’s almost there._

_120mph._

He turned the steering wheel sharply to the left, barely missed a bus coming from the opposite direction and almost crashing into the oncoming traffic. Raindrops were crashing on his windshield and blurred his view, transforming the world into a kaleidoscope. 

_150mph._

The traffic was honking at him, but he wasn’t even paying attention. He glimpsed at the rear mirror and saw a silver Mustang was getting closer and closer, so he grabbed a Benelli M2 semi-automatic shotgun from the front passenger seat and fired without looking back, ears ringing from the loud gunshot. The Corvette’s rear windshield was blown into pieces, so did the driver of the Mustang. 

_195mph._

_Come on. Let's do this._ He gritted his teeth. Engine roaring as the car accelerating to its top speed. _  
_

——And the world was upside down. 

The black Corvette was hit and sent flying across the street. His head was buzzing, face bleeding from the small cuts caused by broken glass. He struggled to get out of the car, but was stuck between the airbag and the driver seat. His rib cage hurt like hell. The smell of blood and gasoline started to fill in the space. He tried to move, but his muscles and bones were screaming in pain.

He could hear the sound of car door opening and ammo loading in the distance.

His consciousness was fading away. The boundary between dreamscape and real world had began to blur. Yet he could still recognize the shape of his Benelli M2 lying on the ground, only a few inches away from where he was. _Eames. Eames._ He repeated that name again and again like a prayer. He gathered the last strength he had, reaching to the shotgun next to him, despite that every cell of his body was protesting. 10 inch. 5 inch. 3 inch. Almost there.

Just as his fingertip touched the cold metal, he blacked out. 

**

_Arthur thought he was going to die, so he closed his eyes. A gunshot was fired, and Buenos Aires went silent for a few seconds, before he heard some guy cursing with British accent. That was odd, since the man who was going to kill him was a Greek hitman.  
_

_He opened his eyes when he realized someone was touching his neck, and immediately throwing his opponent off the balance. Arthur straddled on top of him and threw a punch at his opponent’s throat without hesitation, but the man shifted away from him and dodged his blow. Arthur groaned when his knuckles landed on the ground instead._

_Arthur reached to his pistol that was lying next to the corpse of the Greek hitman, and the British assassin suddenly reappeared from behind and twisted Arthur’s right arm behind his back with one arm, holding another muscular arm firmly around his neck, putting the American assassin in a choke hold. His elbow made an ominous pop sound when bent over and a sharp pain from his dislocated elbow forced him to drop the Glock 17 to the ground. The man behind him kicked the pistol aside as soon as the it dropped to the ground._

_“That’s the spirit, darling. Scream for me.” The British killer said with a lecherous voice. Arthur could feel that man's hot breath on his earlobe._

_Fucking pervert. Arthur spat. “Let go of me.”_

_“I like you better this way.” The man behind him said joyfully._

_“Then_ **_do_ ** _it.”Arthur gritted his teeth.“Kill me now.”_

_“Oh, pet, speaking of those things I wanna_ **_do_ ** _to you. ”The British killer said salaciously. Does he have to sexualized everything Arthur said? "Killing you, however, is not on my list.”_

_“Then let me go.”He clenched his teeth._

_“Would you kill me if I let you off the hook?”_

_Arthur did not answer. His mind had went into an overdrive mode, trying to figure out the best way to exit this bizarre situation._

_“Sign this, and I’ll let you go.”_

_The man behind him loosened his grip, and throwing a metal badge on the ground. It landed right before him._

 _Arthur froze. “_ **_The Marker_ ** _.”_

_“Exactly, darling. ”The British assassin beamed.“You_ **_owe_ ** _me a life.”_

_This couldn’t get any worse. He thought to himself. Of course Arthur knew what the Marker represents. It was a blood oath between two individuals. A physical representation of a_ **_contract_ , **_just like the gold coins they used as a form of social currency, or Moses’ Tablets of Stone, of which was used to symbolize the covenant between Man and God. Contract killers treat their business seriously. Rules and contracts must be honored. Debts must be repaid._ **_You dishonor the Marker, you die; you kill the holder of the Marker, you die; you run, you die. It’s the rules. And rules must be followed under the table._ **

_“I didn't ask you to save me. You were interrupting." He scoffed, “What is this, conscience calls? ”_

_The man sneered. “Of course not, pet, just couldn’t stand the sight of your pretty brains splattered all over the ground. ”_

_Frankly, Arthur would rather get shot in the head by that Greek assassin than signing a contract with this man who appeared out of nowhere. He hated not having control over the situation. He’s the best in this business, which means he had rarely, rarely involved himself in situations that he had no control over.  
_

_“I，Arthur Cohen, solemnly swear: As long as I’m alive，if——“he paused, and the other killer followed, ”William Eames.”——God damned British son of a bitch——“if——William Eames is in need of my service, I will respond to his call and become his gun and sword. I’ll not be engaging in any activities, personal or otherwise, that would threaten the life of my debtee. I understand and accept all consequences associated with the breach of contract. ” He reached out to the Marker with his left arm and pressed on its side. A metal case popped open, revealing the inside of the Marker. He pricked his thumb on a small needle that popped out from the top and pressed a blood fingerprint inside the Marker.  
_

_"Thank you, darling.”_

_Eames finally sounded satisfied and let him go. Arthur glowered at him while the British killer swiftly slipped the Marker into his pocket with nimble fingers. Fucker probably had a habit of picking pockets or some sort.  
_

_Arthur was going to to leave, but Eames grabbed him——his dislocated arm——fucking bastard——_

_The British killer interrupted him just before he was going to snap.“Hold it，love.” He pinpointed Arthur’s dislocated elbow joint and brutally popped it back to its place. Arthur kept his mouth shut, trying his best to remain dignified. “You are welcome.” Eames winked at him.  
_

_Arthur wanted to shoot him between those hazel-grey eyes. But the Marker reminded him that the option of killing Eames was officially off the table. Maybe he should try got himself killed in the next task. After all, dead men don’t tell tales, and they certainly don’t pay debts._

_**_

_Arthur did not try to get himself killed in the next task. On the contrary, he killed others. Fast, efficient, brutal, like he was born to kill. An assassin who was hiding under the table jumped out and stuck the assault rifle off Arthur's hand, but the American assassin simply turned his body in a semicircle motion and kicked him in the face, shattering his jaw into pieces. He then took his weapon away, and sent him back to hell with his own bullet. There was another assassin lurking behind, but Arthur fired a shot without turning his head. Then it was the sound of body fell to the ground._

_There wasn’t even a single blood stain on Arthur’s tailored three-pieces. His slicked back hair was still in place, which makes absolutely no sense. Eames thought._

_He loved watching Arthur murdering his enemies. He also loved the curve of his shoulder, his waist and that perfect arse. He wished he had brought his sketchbook with him, so he could keep those images with him forever._

_And there was Arthur, standing atop a mountain of corpses, head tilted slightly in his direction, showing a perfect curve of his neck, and a dimple blossomed at the corner of his lips; piano fingers resting on the grip of a M1911. He looked like a fucking avenging angel under the dim light of Mombasa Casino._

**** **_“_** _Go to sleep，Mr. Eames.” He smiled. Just a little.  
_

_And just like that, he was in love._

_Eames knew he was a dead man ever since he had found himself falling hopelessly in love with Arthur. A love affair between the two best contract killers in the business. Classic Shakespearean tragedy._

_I’m so fucked. He almost laughed out loud. He could feel the Marker's heat burning inside his breast pocket, close to his heart._

_**_

_Eames loved getting himself into dangerous situations._

_Indeed. They were professional killers. Contract hitmen. It’s true that dangers were just as common as sleeping or eating in their dictionaries. But if you want to stay at the top of the game, you got to know how to survive with minimum risk. Arthur could never understand how Eames was still alive. They were the opposite of each other. Arthur spent a lot of time planning ahead. He needed to know everything so he didn't get killed. Eames, on the other hand, was in love with risks. His life was depending on his ability to improvise; and that explained his terrible sense of fashion: after all, you can’t really expect someone who doesn’t give a shit about his life to be concerned with dress code._

_God damned desperado._

_Arthur killed the guy who tried to assassinate Eames with two shots，“What is your problem?”_

_“I enjoy talking to you, darling. But now is not really a good time.” The British killer said in a casual tone._

_“I’m not interested in getting killed.”He responded coldly._

_“You don’t have to come.” Eames’ eyes narrowed. “This is not your war.”_

_“I have to make sure you are still breathing until the contract is fulfilled.” He could visibly feel the storm of rage forming inside his chest._

_“Then you will never be free of the Marker, as long as you live, may I remind you, love?” He said with a mocking voice. They were running down the street of Los Angeles towards the Continental Hotel, which was owned by Dominick Cobb. The Continental Hotel was designed as a safe house for assassins. No business shall be conducted on the ground of the Hotel. It would at least give them some extra time to figure out the next step._

_They booked two rooms. Of course Eames won’t miss his chance of sexualize this whole situation. He insisted that they should only book one room in order to "save the coins". Arthur ignored him, as he usual did. He told Eames he’s going to get himself a drink. He didn’t understand why would he even bother to offer an explanation. After the second round, a hand appeared on his shoulder. He turned around and found Eames standing behind him, amused._

_“Having fun all by yourself?” A seductive smile.  
_

_“Listen, Eames, I’m a man of focus and commitment.” Arthur ignored his attempt at teasing him. “You’ve heard about my reputation._ **_I repay my debts, and I take my revenges_ ** _. Maybe I don’t like being forced by a stranger to sign a contract I have no control over, but what’s done is done, and I hadn’t really get a chance to thank you for saving my life. Really, I appreciate it.” He took a sip from the glass. “I know having the Marker does not obligate me to protect you or anything, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to let you get your stupit ass killed.” He could feel the heat from Eames’ gaze, which made him uncomfortable. “At least try to stay alive before our contract is fulfilled.”_

_“And what happens after I_ **_use_** _you?” He was leaning on the counter, smirking at him, one hand brushed over Arthur’s, still wearing that typical Eamesian, flirtatious smile. Arthur retracted his hand back immediately as if he had just been burnt. He felt more embarrassed when he realized how flustered he looked. And it annoyed him even more._

_“None of my business.”He took his shot, trying to look unbothered._

_“Whatever you say, love. ”Eames ruffled his hair before he slipped away, leaving Arthur frozen on the spot, confused and embarrassed._

_**_

_By the next time they ran into each other, Arthur was carrying a massacre inside a museum in London. He didn’t plan this. It was out of control._

_It was chaos. He made a mistake. And he blamed it on that tasteless British motherfucker. But in all honesty, he’s not sure if he was mad at Eames or himself, or mad at Nash’s betrayal, or mad at this country that produced Eames. Rage running in his veins, burning down the last rational part of him, and he was throwing his $2,000 Brioni jacket onto the ground, along with his suit tie, leaving only a suit vest and white shirt. He wasn’t himself at this moment——he was more like Eames, which he realized. But he didn' t give a shit. He needed this._

_A_ _gunman's brain splattered all over the display case when the dark-haired assassin shot him in the head with a Glock 17. The assassin then did a backflip over the line of bullets and swiftly landed on his heels, right behind a Bronze sculpture (possibly from the 19 century). He counted the number of shots they have been firing and dashed into the next room while they reloading. A Russian gunman turned around and tried to shoot him, but the assassin flipped him over the shoulder and snatched the Walther out of his hand before he could press the trigger. He fired both pistols at the same time at the rest of the Russian mobs and killed all of them. He did not forget to put a bullet into the forehead of the Walther’s owner before he moved into the next room._

_He was brought to the ground by a mobster who was the size of a bear. The shredded mobster grabbed Arthur by his collar and swung him around, slamming him into an exhibit case. He was smashed into a pile of broken glass and manuscripts, back throbbing in pain._

_“Watch me deport you back to hell. ”The assassin hissed at him in Russian._

_“Sorry, mate, can’t let you do that for now. ”_

_The Russian staggared, but reset to his stance quickly. He tried to take down his opponent with a left hook, but failed. He barked and raise his right fist, and the assassin with British accent locked his arm with a suit tie. The British assassin pulled out his semi-automatic pistol out of nowhere and pulled the trigger, a hole appeared between the pale eyes of the Russian hitman, and he collapsed to the ground. Eames fired more shots, which was oddly unnecessary._

_Arthur grunted，“That’s my tie. ”_

_Eames looked down at his feet，noticing the tie that was wrapped around one of the dead hitman’s arms. He just shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a new one.” He grinned，“a little compliment?”_

_“I’m impressed, Eames.” He said sarcastically, ignored a helping hand from Eames, who offered to help him stand up._

_Eames didn’t seem to mind. “Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, thank you, Arthur. ”_

_Arthur held back the impulse of kicking him in the face. This is not the time. He told himself._

_“So, what’s your plan? ”Eames asked._

_“There’s no plan. ” He answered with a flat tone._

_Eames lifted one eyebrow, as if just discovered a whole new world, “The stick-in-the-mud is running around killing people without plans, is it a sign of Armageddon?”_

_“You got a plan?” Arthur said, utterly indifferent._

_“I do have one.”_

_It was Arthur who lifted his eyebrows this time. “Where’s the improvisation part?”_

_“Exactly，darling. We have to improvise when there’s a change of plan.”_

_Anyway, they successfully broke into the building and killed the leader of the Russian mafia. On their way back Arthur stopped at Nash’s apartment at Hackney and executed the traitor. The British killer was smiling at him the whole time during the execution. He did not like the way he looked at him, like he was going to rip Arthur's clothes off and fucked him into the blood-stained floor._

_But the job was not finished yet. He couldn’t sleep. There were Russian hitmen waiting to kill him outside of the Hotel. He needed to come up with a plan but his mind was filled with thoughts about Eames. He tried to distract himself from thinking about the conversation they had last time at the Continental Hotel in L.A, and failed miserably. If I say to you, don't think about elephants. What are you thinking about? Elephants. He knew it. Fuck._

_Then Eames was knocking on his door. Perfect timing. Arthur almost jumped out from bed, startled._

_“Get out!”He shouted._

_Silence. Maybe Eames finally learned to leave him alone. He should feel good about it, but a small part of him was disappointed. A few moments later the door opened itself as he was brooding again._

_The British assassin leaned on the door frame, eyes never flickering away from Arthur’s. “Nice view.”_

_Arthur was stunned. He was lying on the bed, shirt unbuttoned, not even wearing socks, and feeling exposed._

_“Did you just pick my lock?”He pointed the Glock at Eames, voice raising with rage._

_“Told you I’m the best, darling.” He smiled. A conceited smile that could only be found on someone who’s absolutely confident in himself. The smile made Arthur’s blood boil._

_“This is the Continental Hotel, whatever you think you are doing——”_

_Then the door was locked. Eames ignored his protest. The British killer was just as much an egoist as him.“What do you want, Eames？”He sighed, put the gun down, feeling tired._

_Eames walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He put his Heckler & Koch P2000 right next to the Glock 17 on the nightstand. He was silent, hazel-grey eyes gazing at Arthur. Then he reached to Arthur’s face, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. _

_Arthur let him. He’d break their fingers already If it was anyone else doing this to him, yet he always indulge those harassment coming from Eames. He wondered the implication behind all of this._

_“Why did you save me?” He asked without thinking. Go blame alcohol._

_“My fantasy is being your knight in shining armor, darling.” He smirked, then switched to a heart-breaking voice, “I’m not a heartless bastard, you know. ”_

_“You are a fucking professional killer. Do I have to be more specific?”He tried not to look at the Eames’ chest under that pink shirt. He had to admit that Eames was still attractive as fuck even when he was wearing the ugliest shirt and tweed jacket he had ever seen._

_“Thank you for your contribution，Arthur.”_

_That was enough. He jumped off the bed, ready to leave. But someone grabbed his arm and threw him back to the bed. And Eames was kissing him on top of him, with dangerous passions and desires. Arthur knew he should do the right thing. He’s confident that he could absolutely harm——or even kill Eames if he wanted to. He always made sure those who attempt to dishonor Arthur Cohen never see the sunrise again._

_But all he did was kissing back, deeper, rougher. Eames moaned，“Fuck, Arthur, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve been thinking of doing this to you since we first met.”_

_He could feel Arthur’s body stiffened. The American killer looked stunned, like a deer in the headlight, almost shy._

_Shit. Shit. He fucked it up again. He thought to himself，Arthur is going point his gun at him and telling him to bugger off and never show up again. He considered a future like this and could almost taste the bitterness in his mouth._

_“Shut up.”Arthur commanded, eyes darkened. He now looked like a fallen angel, “just come over and fuck me hard. ”_

_Eames despised authority. But he willingly followed the command this time._

_**_

_The next morning Eames was gone._

_They always running into each other and everytime after accumplished their missions they would check in into the nearest Continental Hotel and go straight into fucking, until one of them left before the morning came. They were chasing each other all around the world, spending half of the time killing and the other half time fucking. It was a secret game of theirs, and they were playing it according to the unspoken rules under the table.  
_

_Arthur couldn’t pin down the exact nature of their relationship. It was a bit frustrating at first since he was not a fan of additional complexity. He had been a lone wolf the entire lifetime. His relationships were all professional. Because he was a_ **_professional_ ** _, which was something he prided himself on. He didn’t do one-night-stands, neither did he have considered the possibility of getting into a long term relationship. Yet he had done almost everything that can be regarded as unprofessional ever since he met Eames._

_He knew it. Deep down insdie he knew that what they have done in the past, as well as what they were going to do in the future, would eventually come out and bite them in the back some day. But he did not stop._

_Until one day he found himself missing Eames. Those kisses with subbles, cringy pet names, and the sensation of being filled by Eames’ cock. What’s more absurd was that he started to develop jealous thoughts, wondering if Eames was throwing the same nicknames at someone else. This is bad. Really really bad._

_Fuck my life, he thought，knowing his career was over._

_**_

He was woken up by a splash of cold water. How cliche.

Arthur opened his eyes, and found himself tied up on a chair. There were armed men all over guarding the empty church. It was **Peter Browning** standing in front of him. 

“Hello，Mr.Cohen.”

He could taste the blood in his mouth. His teeth were still intact, which was a miracle. He thought of Eames’s crooked teeth he used to make fun of. Looking back, it must have been some sort of souvenir from a horrible interrogation. 

“Go fuck yourself, Browning **. ”**

One of Browning’s men punched him in the face, and he passed out again.

******

_“Did you steal my tie again，Eames？”_

_He stared at that silk tie with dark gold patterns hanging in Eames’ closet. “You left it here yourself last time，darling. ” Eames sprawled on his worn-out sofa, half naked, tattoos all over his bare chest and strong arms. A ceiling fan humming above them._

_Arthur closed the closet door, knowing he was telling the truth. Then he found he’s at a loss for words. He had no idea how he found himself in an apartment that did not even have a working air-condition in Mombasa. Kenya, a blistering hot city in a third world country. He couldn’t see how Eames can endure all of this, and he certainly couldn’t see why he kept coming back._

_Occasionally Eames would visit his apartment in Vienna. This is his safehouse. He hadn’t told anyone else but Eames. As time went by, things that clearly did not belong to him started to appear on his floor. Poker chips from casinos all over the world, grenade rings, credit cards signed by unfamiliar names, cheap aftershaves, pornograpic DVDs, shirts that look like someone's nightmare, and boxers._

_It almost seemed like they were cohabiting, to an extent._

_They ran into each other again in Paris. Eames blew up the factory with a grenade launcher. He loved being overly dramatic. You mustn't be afraid of dreaming bigger, darling, he said, as if the assault rifle Arthur was holding was a toy, “Dinner?”_

_“You're buying,”Arthur said.“And try not to dress like a con-man, please.”_

 _They had dinner at_ _Jules Verne_ _on the second floor of Eiffel Tower. He was expecting to find Eames showing up dressed like a drug dealer, and was shocked when the British assassin showed up with a tailored tuxedo._

_Eames looked so fucking hot in a tuxedo. That British son of a bitch. He forced himself to not stare at Eames' full lips while pretending to not notice Eames’ eyes lingering on the inside of his wrist.“What do we do after dinner?” He asked with a tone that was carefully constructed to appear as laid-back as possible, still wearing a poker face._

_“What do you wanna do, love？” The British assassin stretched out one hand to touch his wrist. This sent a shiver down his spine._

_“I’m not sure.”He answered honestly. He had been travelling around, but those were business trips. He had to stay vigilant when walking down the street. Other people looked up and saw cities with breathtaking views, but all he could see was a modern labyrinth packed with death traps. He had visited Paris before, but never as a tourist._

_And now he’s here having a candlelit dinner date with another contract killer._

_It’s a strange world._

_Eames paid for dinner like he promised. Arthur felt pleased as he watched $1000 disappear into the credit card terminal. It did not take long for him to remember that Eames was also a damn good thief, which means their dinner was probably billed on some poor guy who’s frantically looking for his lost credit card somewhere._

_“No, love, it wasn't a stolen credit card.” Eames looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.  
_

_Arthur frowned. “It wasn't?"_

_“I said I’m buying. ”_

_They were waiting for their taxi on the street. Eames’ hand was on his waist, right above his Glock 17. “We pay off our debts, and we take our revenges.” He sounded amused._

_“You don’t owe me.”Another assassin said.  
_

_The British killer simply replied with a kiss._

_**_

Eames woke up in an empty church, dehydrated and sore. 

His instinct told him this was a hostage situation. Yet he knew nothing about his kidnapper. He had made plenty of enemies during his career, and there were always people who'd kill to see him buried six feet under all over the world. The last thing he could recall was waiting for the car wash at a gas station in Toronto. _He remembered he was sitting on the driver seat of his purple Dodge Challenger Hellcat, smoking. In a cloud of smoke he thought of Arthur. The American killer with a stick-up-his-ass. Arthur Cohen. He’s 28, and still looked at a college kid. No, more like some spoiled brat living in a gated community. He didn’t smoke, only drinking for social reasons. He suspected that Arthur was still a virgin. He was wrong, though. He knew how to suck Eames’ cock good, so he probably had some sexual experiences before. He’s good, though not fantastic, so not that experienced. Hmm. He felt a bit jealous, but what did he know? Eames himself had lost count of how many people he had fucked since he was 15._

_In Los Angeles Arthur asked him why he saved him. It was a reasonable question. Minding your own business was one of the unspoken rules they followed under the table. Getting into someone else’s business would bring you nothing but troubles, and usually lead to lots of bloodshed as well.  
_

_“_ You are awake, Mr.Eames.” An emotionless voice. A voice that belonged to a young man with cold blue eyes. He recognized that man, Robert Fischer, son of the most powerful Mafia in the West Coast. 

“You know, Robert, you can just call me on the cell if you want to have me on a job, we don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” He complained.

“You betrayed us.” The blue-eyed Mafia prince stood with both hands behind his back while speaking with a icy voice, “Six months ago my uncle sent you and a Greek contract killer to kill Arthur Cohen. It turned out that you not only killed our man but also let our target waltzed away. This is shockingly unprofessional, especially coming from you. I don’t know what’s your relationship with Cohen, but you know we don’t tolerate betrayal.” He took Eames’s Marker from his pocket and played it between his fingers，”We are contract killers, so we must honour the spirit of contract. And you, Mr.Eames, is a rat who knows no honour or loyalty.”

**

_Why did you save me?_

_He changed the subject with his usual flirtatious remarks that he knew would ruffle Arthur’s feathers. Surely he couldn’t answer that question. And he didn’t even know where to start. What could he say? Hey, darling, it all started as a whimsical decision made by one of the assassins who was sent to kill you？It sounded ridiculous even with his standard._

_He was caught off guard by the realization that he had fallen hopelessly in love with Arthur Cohen during the job in Mombasa. After the job was over he spent a week drinking himself to death and passeing out on Yusuf’s couch. When he finally sobered the apothecary was mixing his poison. He patiently listened to Eames’ incoherent rant. What are you afraid of, Romeo? Yusuf said, still fixated with his test tubes that probably contained the world’s most lethal substance. Look，Yusuf，I——I don’t know what to do——I guess——I’m afraid of it——afraid of this thing turning me into something else._

_Do you even know what you are. The apothecary glanced at him while shaking his tubes. Eames choked. The brown apothecary continued, you are afraid that he’s gonna tie you down, and then you would find yourself living a completely normal life with two dogs in a house with white picket fences? Believe me, my friend, this is what freedom looks like, not sleeping with a pistol under your pillow every night._

_He hates me. Eames said. He always does. I swear to God I don’t know what I’ll become if he tells him to bugger off._

_O Arthur, Arthur! Wherefore art thou Arthur? The apothecary imitated his voice and laughed. Eames groaned. Half of you is afraid of him rejecting you, and the other half is scared of the possibility that he might accept you. Yusuf patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, Sorry, Eames, I wish I could give you a love potion or something, but I’m afraid you have to figure it out yourself._

_He continued accepting commissions after leaving Yusuf's house. He continued drinking lots of whiskey or vodka or whatever alcohol he could get his hands on, having casual sex with random men or women he picked up from bars all over the world, and passing out somewhere he couldn’t remember. Sometimes he would imagine what his life would be like if he had killed Arthur, that Arthur, who smiled at him, all dimples, while standing atop a mountain of bodies. He dropped the thought of killing Arthur almost instantly._

_The first time they had sex was at the Continental Hotel in L.A. He remembered every details. The coldness of his skin, the heat inside him, the way he moaned Eames’ name with pleasure. He could spend his entire life kissing and touching him._

_He loves Arthur. He thought. The idea of falling in love with someone had never crossed his mind. And he was not expecting someone to love him back either. There were, of course, people who were infatuated with him. But it was a shade they fell in love with. A persona built from lies. A fictional character created to fulfil their fantasies._

_After all, who would love a forger who didn’t even love himself?_

_——Ain’t talkin’bout love_

_——My love is rotten to the core._

_He left the next morning after they had sex. He took multiple suicidal missions, numbing his pain with violence and alcohol._

_——I have been to the edge_

_——And there I stood and looked down_

**_——_ ** _You know I lost a lot of friends there baby_

 **_——_ ** _I got no time to mess around_

****

_Arthur called him a Desperado. He would fly into a fierce rage when Eames risked his life in a task. This was something new. He loved getting attention from Arthur, even he knew how sickening it was._

_——Oh yeah, you think you’re really cookin baby?_

_——You better find yourself a friend, my friend._

**_——_ ** _So if you want it you gotta bleed for it baby_

 **_——_ ** _My love is rotten to the core._

_None of them have mentioned that night at L.A. They still ran into each other. At a small town in Cairo. Or Chinatown in Bangkok. They danced around each other and left a trail of blood, killing and fucking, then parted ways, then repeat._

_——Ain’t talkin’bout love_

_——My love is rotten to the core._

_Arthur would visit him in Mombasa. Eames would fly to Vienna. He was still fucking other people. After all, they were not in a serious relationship. He still couldn’t forget that dark-haired American killer. Until one day Eames found the Marker that contained Arthur’s blood oath under his bed after his hookup left his apartment. At that moment he was consumed by an overwhelming sense of self-hatred and guilt. He realized what a horrible person he was: he coerced Arthur into pledging his loyalty and trust to him through lies and deception. He succeeded because he’s an expert at reading people. And he knew Arthur would sign the contract because it’s who he was. A man with noble character. A killer with honor._

_Arthue deserved better. But Eames was not about letting him go. Because Eames was not a man with noble character.  
_

_So he decided to ask Arthur out on a date. The American raised an eyebrow. You don’t owe me. He said._

_And all he could do was kissing him.  
_

_**_

The young Fischer broke his train of thoughts.“I hope you are ready to face your ending，Mr.Eames.”

Eames smiled. He missed the time that Arthur called him Mr.Eames.

The young Fischer sneered, as if he had already predicted Eames’ reaction. His voice was as cold as his eyes.“Ever wondered who is going to be your judge?”

“To be honest, I don’t give a fuck, mate. ” He said.

“Oh, you will. ” Fischer turned around and clapped, “Bring him in！”

Then someone opened the door, and there was light. When was the last time he saw light? He had to shut his eyes to avoid the light because his eyes have become accustomed to the prolonged exposure to darkness. Then there were sounds of clothes rustling and footsteps echoing in the church. 

He squinted, trying to figure out the identities of the two men standing against light. 

“Meet my uncle, Peter Browning. And meet Arthur Cohen, your judicator.”

_——Ain’t talkin’bout love_

_——My love is rotten to the core._

——He looked up in surprise and met with those familiar dark eyes. 

**

_——Let's go get a dog together. Eames said._

_They were walking along the riverbank in Paris when Eames said that. Arthur almost tripped himself and fell into the river._

_He did not end up in the water because Eames took him into his arms and was kissing his hair. Arthur was petrified, unable to think or move. It took him a minute to regain his composure._

_“——You are not even my boyfriend.”He pointed out._

_“We’ve been fucking non-stop for three months，darling.” Eames said shamelessly，“just admit it, how much you miss me when I’m not around. Did you jerk off to my tattoos before you go to sleep?”_

_“I’ve never masturbated to your stupid tattoos.”Arthur said, similed a little. Dimples around the corner of his lips._

_“Then it’s a yes?”_

_“Don’t put words into my mouth, Mr.Eames.” The American gave him a long-suffering look._

_And the British assassin whistled._

_“For God’s sake, Eames,”Arthur said，“You are attracting unwanted attention. I’m not looking for a fight tonight.”_

_“Look, love, you really need to learn how to enjoy life a little bit more. " Eames wiggled his eyebrows at him. Arthur sighed._

_**_

“Welcome back.” Coming out from that hideous mouth of Peter Browning, “I hope you have calmed down, Mr.Cohen, otherwise we have to do it again, it’s a bad deal for both of us.”

Arthur glared at him. “Tell me where Eames is, before I rip the heart out of your chest. ” 

A guard lifted his gun, but Browning stopped him. 

“I understand the contract between you and Eames, however, I was rather surprised by the intensity of your reaction.”Browning said, “Who would have thought Arthur Cohen could be such a romantic? You never cease to surprise me, Mr.Cohen, and it saddens me that we have to be at each other’s throats. For what exactly? A rat who doesn’t know what honor is and would sell anyone out over anything. Is it really worth it?”

“Just cut the bullshit.” Arthur spat. 

“Remember that time Saito, my biggest competitor in the Energy industry, sending you over to Buenos Aire to assassinate me? Everybody in this business knows you are Saito’s favorite secret weapon, and he sent you to me, practically gift-wrapped, I’d say, so I had to give something back to him, right? I was thinking about your head, Mr. Cohen, and we found two men who were qualified for that job. One is dead, rest in peace, as for the other one——” Browning paused for a second, “His name is William Eames.”

——Arthur froze on the spot. 

**

_Nothing have really changed after they got into a relationship. Just more killing and fucking. The only difference it made was that they were no longer in a rush of leaving in the next morning. They would stay the night, and woke up in each other’s arms, bickering over what to eat at breakfast, then part away. “Don’t get yourself killed. And call me. ” Arthur would help fix his tie, giving a speech about how Eames should update his closet, and Eames would kiss his fingers one by one, “of course, love. You are too young to be a widow.”And Arthur would tell him to shut up._

_Eames hadn’t called since Arthur returned from Shanghai. He waited for two weeks before he ran out of patience. He flied straight to Toronto, where he called Arthur the last time. He broke some bones and splattered some brains. Then he had a name. Peter Browning._

_He paid Cobb a visit at the Continental Hotel.  
_

_“Look who is here. It’s been a while, Arthur. ”The blonde man squinted._

_“I need to talk to Peter Browning.” He interjected._

_“‘Talk’. Have you thought it through? Like really thought it through?” Cobb leaned forward, and his drink spilled a little with his movement._

_“Where is him?”Arthur asked with a stern voice.  
_

_“Listen, I know he’s different, but trust me, Arthur, it’s a terrible path to go down, don’t do this. ”_

_“You don’t wanna help.”Arthur said, knowing he was wasting time._

_Cobb put a palm on Arthur’s hand, apologetic. “I’m going to retire soon. I have a family，Arthur. The Continental doesn’t pick sides, you know it.”_

_He flied to Rome to visit Saito the second time. The Japanese business magnate gave him everything he needed, including the address of Ariadne, a young, energetic college girl who also happened to run an underground tailor shop for assassins._

_“Good afternoon，Arthur.“ She caught the gold coin Arthur slided across the table.“I’ve heard so much about you. You have a big reputation out there.”_

_“I need new suits, new weapons, and a detailed map of Browning’s headquarter.“_

_”Mr. Saito had told me everything. “She gave him a sweet smile. Arthur followed her into the room. Ariadne instructed him to stand in front of the mirror and put a measuring tape on his shoulder.“Is it for a formal event or social affair?”_

_“Formal event.”_

_“And is it for the day, or the evening? ”_

_“I need one for day, and one for night.”_

_Then they proceeded to select weapons. It amazed Arthur that she could introduce each weapon with such youthful exuberance, as if she was just introducing him to a bunch of old friends at a college party. She watched him disassemble and reassemble the firearms, aim and reload, clearly fascinated._

_"Try this, FN SCAR-L, this is totally you." She said. Arthur looked at the black assault rifle with ACOG scope and agreed she was right. “Wanna see the map?”_

_Arthur left Rome a week after. He left with a classic dress shirt, a black suit vest, an Attolini jacket, $600 Santoni shoes with a hidden knife, all bulletproof. A Glock 17 and Heckler & Koch P2000 in his holster, a silver suitcase with firearms in his hand. A private helicopter provided by the Japanese business magnate was waiting for him on the rooftop. _

_Someone took something very important from_ _him. Debts will be settled. And revenges will be taken._

_He’s ready. And he’s coming for all of them._

_**_

“Impossible.” 

“Go ask Eames then.” Browning scorned. “He had been lying to you. He is a trickster, a con-artist, a man who would be offended if you dare to assume he’s not going to sell you out over a bag of cheeseburgers. He cares for no one, Mr.Cohen.”

“Let him go.” Arthur insisted. _Stubborn little thing._

“No. We don’t keep rats under the table.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Because the Table had decided you will be William Eames’ judicator.” Browning watched his expression change, “Mr.Eames had proven himself to be a rat without honor, a man who doesn’t understand the spirit of contract. But you, Mr. Cohen, have proven yourself to be someone who is trustworthy and reliable. The High Table is interested in offering you a job opportunity.”

“What if I say no?”

“The only thing you are required to do is to kill Eames. We don’t care about the rest. However, we’ll have to take care of you if you can’t handle this matter yourself.” 

“I can’t. The Marker, you know——”

“—— **_You dishonour the Marker, you die; you kill the holder of the Marker, you die; you run, you die. It’s the rules. And rules must be followed under the table._ ** _”_ Browning recited, impatient,“that’s clever of him, I’d give him the credit. But he was being too smart. Yes, according to the contract, you can do no harm to your debtee, until you’ve fulfilled your service.” He grinned, and Arthur wanted to punch that shit-eating grin off his face and break his nose and shove it down his throat and watched him choked on it.“But what if it is your debtee who asks you to perform the service of killing him?”

**

“He can’t kill me.” Eames looked bored. “Unless you want to break the contract.”

Browning scoffed. “We are not going to. But you haven’t asked him for his service, I suppose? ”

“You want me to ask Arthur to kill me——Using Arthur to commit suicide.”

“' _If William Eames is in need of my service, I will respond to his calling and become his gun and sword '_ ——am I correct? Well, time’s up. Arthur will become your gun and sword, and you are going to use him to kill youself.” The young Fischer turned to _Eames_ , blue-eyes stormy, “It’s not just about us. This affair of yours——had become somethhing more. Something much more serious. Today all debts must be settled. This is the instruction from the High Table. ” He turned to Arthur, who had an inscrutable look on his face.“Saito sent you to kill my uncle, which you failed. And now you are using weapons sponsored by him to take your revenge. This is the first debt; Eames was going to assassinate you, he killed our man and let you walked away instead, which is an unforgivable act of treachery, this is the second debt; Eamed lied to you about his mission and coerced you into signing the Marker, this is the third debt. You know the order must be maintained through the spirit of contract, and we must follow the rules under the Table. Therefore, today all debts must be settled and all revenges must be taken, otherwise both of you are going to die here. ” He handed Eames’ gun over Arthur，''William Eames, today is the day of your judgement. Do you accept the revenge of Arthur Cohen?”

He watched Arthur’s finger move onto the trigger. 

He had owed Arthur so much. Now he could finally pay them off. 

The young Fischer handed him over the marker. Eames pricked his thumb, leaving a blood fingerprint right beside Arthur’s.

And the contract was fulfilled.

“I do.” He said. 

**

Eames closed his eyes when Arthur pulled the trigger. No sharp pain. No nothing. He opened his eyes in surprise, and it was Peter Browning who was shot between the eyes. Browning’s men were busy getting the young Fischer out of church, while the rest of the guards were killed instantly before they could realize what just happened. Arthur tapped his heel, and a sharp blade popped out from the tip of his expensive Italian shoe. He swung his leg in a grateful way, blade cutting the tapes in half, and then Eames was free. He tapped his heel again, and the knife retracted back into the shoe. 

“I’m so touched，Darling. ” He murmured.

“Shut up. ” The American picked up his silver suitcase and threw the pistol back at Eames. “We need to leave immediately.”He stopped for a second, then walked over and kissed Eames. “Let's get out of here.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“And you didn't have to save me.”Arthur retorted. “ _We really need to go，Mr. Eames.”_ He said, without waiting for Eames to answer. 

They walked out of the church together, bruised and scarred. They kept walking until Arthur saw Cobb, who was standing right on the plaza. 

“How is your injury?”

“Better than I expected.”Arthur said.“I recovered fast. You know I’m the best.”

“Best of the best.” Eames said.

“You must be Eames.” Cobb nodded in his direction. “Unfortunately I can’t say I’m glad to meet you. ”

“Pleased to meet you.” He said sarcastically. 

“Cobb，what are we looking at?”Arthur asked.

“Robert Fischer had created an open contract for you two. He put a generous bounty on your head.”

“High Table, and Continental.”Arthur said.

Cobb nodded，eyes narrowed. “We cannot disobey the High Table. This time there would be no neutral zones.” He took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry, but your lives are now forfeited.”

“Then why aren't we dead yet?”

“Because I deemed it not to be. ”Cobb answered calmly. He gestured at the crowd, and suddenly they all stopped walking, as if time was froze. He nodded at the crowd, and they resumed to their lives again.

“You only have an hour.” Cobb warned. “Can’t delay it any longer.”

“I owe you this, Cobb.”Arthur said, “just hand me over the Marker. ”

“That won't be necessary. This is the last thing I do before I retire. Consider it my wedding gift to you. ” Cobb said, “He said ‘I do’ already, I suppose?”

“Not what you imagined, but that’s beside the point.” Arthur said, “tell them, we repay our debts, and we take our revenges. ”

“And tell them. Tell them all. Whoever comes, whoever it is, _we’ll_ kill them. _We'll kill them all_.” Eames said with a smugness on his face, “They have to deal with us both. ”

“Eames. ” Cobb nodded at him，then at Arthur. “Arthur.”

“Dom. ”Arthur saluted. The blonde man turned around and disappeared into the crowd. 

They knew at somewhere a process had been activated. Their files were printed out, stamped, and their information will be sent across the globe. 

**_Arthur Cohen, William Eames, distribution——Worldwide; Status——excommunicado._ **

_And that command will be sent to every contract killer in the world._

There would be no escape. 

They could hear the ringtones of cellphones getting louder and louder. The crowd were turning heads at them, eyes dark and hungry. Men, women, elders, and kids. _The dream is collapsing._

“Ready for our exciting honeymoon? Darling?” Eames playfully whispered to his ear, voice still relaxed, as if everything was just a dream and they were eventually going to wake up soon in real life. But Arthur knew he already had his pistol out, safety off. Because he was doing the exact same thing. 

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames. ” He smiled.

——And they started running.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The lyrics is from Van Halen's Aint Talkin Bout Love. A very Eames/Arthur song imo.


End file.
